Of Grunts and Padawans
by Bill-the-Pony
Summary: *I updated! Chapter 6* Just a little diddle into a day in the life of - yes, everyone's favorite padawan - Obi-Wan Kenobi. We left our hero on the floor, rather stuck, and at the mercy of his master.
1. Of Volcanic Padawans and Derivatives of ...

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Title: Of Grunts and Padawans

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By: Bill-the-Pony

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Archive: Anywhere, just let me know!!

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Summary: Just a little diddle into a day in the life of - yes, everyone's favorite padawan - Obi-Wan Kenobi. Following some of the disasters and strange little happenings, so that we can read about them and laugh at the poor apprentice's expense. But that's what Fan Fiction writers are here for! Just a side note, and I think Obi-Wan's around 15 in this.

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Disclaimer: I own a horse, I own a cat, I own some paper and a pen, I own many things but as a very wise man once recorded of our Lord_, "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's…" …but unto Lucas what is Lucas's_. So in other words for the dull minded, I don't own any of Georgy's brain children. 

Now without further ado…

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Chapter 1: Of Volcanic Padawans and Derivatives of 'Eh' 

"Obi-Wan?" 

Silence.

"Obi-Wan."

"Uunggg…" 

A muted rumble issued from beneath the mount of bed covers. Qui-Gon reached forward and shook the brooding bump. "Obi-Wan! Wake up." A louder more menacing grumble. The mound shook threateningly.

The Jedi Master rolled his eyes, "Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, I have no need of a volcanic performance every morning. I know you're awake and I expect you to respond intelligibly when you're addressed."

Beneath the layers of warm blankets Obi-Wan planned his next move. He moaned pitifully, trying to sound as ill and persecuted as possible. He had tried to bide his time with silence but he knew that the use of his full title was never a good sign. _He's on to me, _he thought, it was time to commence plan B.

Qui-Gon sighed, _Commence plan B. _He took a step closer to the lair of the problematic padawan.

Meanwhile inside the dormant volcano, the apprentice was slowly inching his hands up to grasp the edges of his comforter. He reminded himself if he moved too fast or too jerky it would blow his cover, quite literally. He knew that if that happened, or if Qui-Gon was assured of his awareness then his next move would be brutal.

Qui-Gon was positioned and ready, but it was all a matter of surprise, if he let Obi-Wan have to much time, then he would be ready for his next move. In one swift strong motion he swept the blanket of the apprentice. It didn't budge. Apparently his timing had been a little off, and had given Obi-Wan too much time to prepare.

He frowned in frustration, it was time to bring out the big blasters. "Obi-Wan," His voice grew in velocity, "Let go of the blanket and get up right now or you'll be doing essays till there's nothing left to report." 

He watched with hands akimbo as the bushy head of his padawan peaked out from under the covers, "Not fair," _Ah, the first distinguishable words of the day, _he thought with a mental chuckle.

"Up, now."

Obi-Wan was stubborn, but he knew when he had lost. That force behind that tone was not a force to be reckoned with.

"Don't make me start counting Padawan."

That was enough of a threat to submit into obedience even the most temperamental crèche baby.

"1…"

Before Qui-Gon could develop the 2 on his lips and send it from his brain to his vocal cords, Obi-Wan had gathered his tunic - wadded in a corner between a pile of books and various other articles of clothing - and was closing the 'fresher door behind him.

The Jedi Master could not stifle the smug, smirk of triumph at defeating his padawan at this little skirmish. Just another tally mark on his board and a few credits in his pocket, kindly supplied by a certain council member by the name of Mace Windu. He checked his chrono, knowing with clear certainty that he had made his goal for the day. 5 minutes and 48 seconds

He had broken a new record.

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_(30 minutes later…)_

Qui-Gon watched his padawan shuffle over to the small kitchen unit and tug open the 'fridge's door…and tug, and tug again.

"Obi-Wan, are you having trouble?"

"Mmm…"

"Is that a no?"

"Mhh…"

"Alright then."

Finally, Obi-Wan managed to pry the door open with his lightsaber hilt, but not without much cringing and grimacing on his master's part. After lugging a gallon of milk from the fridge (A/N: How could the galaxy exist without milk…they had to have milk right?) he routed around in the cupboard looking for some kind of suitable food. Qui-Gon couldn't help but notice that he looked much like a womp rat, shifting through a garbage disposal unit. The dignified master coughed into his hand to hide the snort of laughter at the uncanny picture.

"What time is your class today?" He asked from his overstuffed armchair, or 'Qui-Gon's Throne' as Obi-Wan had dubbed it the day the Jedi Master brought home his treasure.

"Ehh…" Obi-Wan threw himself in a hard chair at the dinning table.

"Oh." After 3 years of being answered by it every morning, Qui-Gon still wasn't sure of the meaning of 'Eh'

"Are you going to be teaching it with somebody?"

A shrug and a dip into his bowl of soggy, _Happy Force Flakes_.

Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow and peered over the top of his book, "Are you ignoring me?"

"Ung…"

He filed that under, 'Derivatives of _Eh_'.

"Oh, I see." He closed his book and hoisted himself out of his chair, "Well I'm going to make use of my time by preparing my mission statement for the Council."

"Hm…"

With a sigh and a shake of his head he left the room.

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Once Qui-Gon had departed, Obi-Wan gathered his half eaten cereal and dumped the remains into the disposal unit.

His eye caught the time on the antique, ticking clock hanging above the sink. 8:02. Perfect.

After once again secluding himself in the 'fresher, he dug the small, portable heater into a socket in the wall. It had become Obi-Wan's new best friend on these cold, (or as his master insisted, crisp) winter mornings.

Throwing a neatly folded pile of newly dried towels on the floor in front of the blasting heat, he wadded and twisted them until they formed an abstract resemblance of a nest.

_Just a few minutes, _he thought as he nestled into his makeshift nest, _that's all I need._

With the heat caressing his back, he soon dozed off into a contented sleep.

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A/N: Now what will happen? What exactly is our little brat of a Padawan doing, not like it's not obvious. And what kind of disaster will he unwittingly accomplish? Wehoo! Fire in the next chapter along with a little braid burning. I need idea's so write em' down by clickin' that little button down there and tell me what you want! I should have the next chapter up sometime tomorrow or in a few days since it's almost done already. I feed of reviews like every other fan fic writer does, so show some courtesy! Your humble writer, _Bill-the-Pony_

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Coming Up-- Chapter 2: Of Smoldering Towels and Mumbling Initiates


	2. Of Smoldering Towels and Wrong Numbers

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See first chapter for disclaimers etc…

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Chapter 2: Of Smoldering Towels and Wrong Numbers

Sigh.

Breath in. Breath out. Sigh. Did the Council really need a report of every action that they had engaged while on a mission? Force! He hadn't become a Jedi to be babysat by the Council. Qui-Gon leaned his chin on the palm of his right hand, while running his left fingers in a thumping rhythm. He groaned, _I wonder if I should instigate a new rule where the padawan must write the mission reports._ It was a fleeting thought but a pleasant one none the less.

Lost in thought he didn't notice the smoky smell which was slowly permeating the room.

He was back home on a camping trip with his brother, who was setting up an old beaten shelter. He was just about to light the campfire, the fresh forest smell was lilting up his senses. He glanced down at the forest floor, and then down again. Smoke? Around his feet? The forest floor morphed back into the carpeted floor of his apartment. But the smoke was still there. His senses came alive, the dusty smell of smoke was filling the air. 

He lurched to his feet, "Obi-Wan!" he yelled as he charged out into the main room. Why hadn't his padawan noticed the obvious smoke yet?

He quickly located the problem spot by the noxious fumes wafting from beneath the 'fresher's door. Why was the door closed unless…

Palming the door open he was met by a vision that would stick in his mind for years to come. Obi-Wan nestled in a pile of once neatly folded towels a heater full blast fast asleep, incoherent of the towel behind him kindling into flame.

In a stunned state he stumbled forward and jerked his padawan upward by the collar. Tossing the simi-concious apprentice into the main room he ripped the heater's cord from the wall, forgetting every rule he had been taught as a boy about electric shock.

He soon had the smoldering towels in a tub of water and a very cowed padawan by the ear.

"What were you doing! I would at least think that you, at 15 would know the fundamentals of heat and fire that a 5 year old would. But I guess I was wrong in assuming that you would posses any grain of common sense. And sneaking naps in the bathroom? That in itself would be forgivable, but when you nearly succeed in burning down half of the housing section of the Temple? That's a hard one, what were you thinking! I would like to imagine that having the blessing of the Force you would at least have noticed the danger that you were in. But I was wrong there as well, I doubt you even realize that your braid is smoldering."

He only felt the breeze and the heard the squeak of surprise as Obi-Wan darted to the kitchen sink.

Sigh.

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Obi-Wan was mortified, and that was at the least of his emotions. One moment he had been 'lightly dozing', and the next, he was being thrown into the main living area by a frantic master.

After dousing his entire head under the running faucet, and checking that no other articles of his person where flaming or otherwise aflame in anyway, he crept back into the living area, hoping that perhaps he could escape before…

"Ow!"

He guessed that it would be against the will of the Force to allow him such luck. 

Qui-Gon yanked hard on his charred braid. "Come."

He followed, or more accurately, was led, to the couch. "Sit." Qui-Gon pointed a finger to the seat. Obi-Wan didn't argue. He watched with growing concern as his master disappeared into his study. This was it, he was getting the blaster that he knew must be hidden under his master's mattress, and he was going to end his pitiful existence here and now.

Obi-Wan had been so caught up in wallowing in thoughts of his own sad demise, he didn't see the datapad that was tossed at him for him to catch till it hit him in the face. 

"Write."

Looking down, with tremulous anticipation, he half expected to see a form for his will, or what he wanted for his funeral, that was, if his master left any remains to bury. But it was neither, in bold print at the top of the screen was written **"Mission Statement Form"**.

Qui-Gon pointed again, "Write, now."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but it clicked shut when he was on the receiving end of a glance that would melt dura-steel.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan wrote. 

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Obi-Wan glanced nervously at the clock, ticking above the kitchen sink, it was well past 8:30 and creeping up with unnerving speed on 9:00.

He was hardly half done with the tedious statement, but he had to be ready to teach that class at 9:30. There was no question in his mind that Qui-Gon would not be willing to exempt him from the duty or let him go until he was done with the report.

Obi-Wan tried to tether his fluttering thoughts and focus on the task at hand, but he found himself mentally kicking himself without mercy at every turn. Bruised minds don't write Mission Statements well. He was finding that out at a very bad time.

He toppled from his light perch on the side of the couch as the deep chime of the clock broke the stiflingly still milieu of the room, He shot a darting glance at his master who sat, staring at him intently, elbows resting on his knees, not making any sound or movement. He reminded Obi-Wan of the massive, cold stone statues that had been erected on the planet that they had just visited on there last mission. That also reminded him of the task at hand.

Finally, the chime hit it's ninth tone. It was _only_ 9:00 am and he was already in way over his head. But then another notion presented itself, it was _already _9:00 am and he only had half an hour to present himself in the classroom.

He was dead in the water, and it didn't look like the rescue crafts were coming to pick him up.

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As far as he could remember, he had never run this fast, force enhanced or not. Obi-Wan's feet fairly flew across the Temple hallway's floors. He dodged, he swerved, he ducked, he leapt. To anyone he passed he was a mere blur.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan skidded, literally skidded, to a stop. To his horror, he recalled that in his absentmindedness he had neglected to find out just which room he was supposed be.

Frantically he began to whip through the data on his pad, searching for some kind of room number or address. There! A number that had the resemblance of the format used for a room number. It was a guess but what he hoped to be an accurate guess. Room 12. Turning to his right, he saw it, standing there, like a haven of rest in a tumult of nightmares he saw…Room 12.

Sagging in sheer relief he palmed the door open. Even as he did this, the occupants of the room, ranging from what looked to be children from the ages of 5-7, grew eerily quite. He had thought he was teaching the 10 year olds. Shrugging it off as another bad occurrence in his already trashed day he…

…Was grabbed by the front of his tunic and hauled to the front of the room. He looked up, and up, and up some more into the very unpleasant face of a very, very, displeased Rodian female. 

"Hi."

He was already dead meat, now the vultures where diving in for their meal.

"You're late," She proclaimed grumpily. Then swinging him around to face the expectant young faces of the initiates, she marched down the center isle, "Teach," she commanded before she swept herself out the door.

Why was everyone using one word phrases with him today?

Moving behind the Camura wood podium he set his pad on the flat top.

"Hello, some of you might know me, but for those of you who don't, I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Blank stares.

"I've been asked to come and talk to you about a subject which I find very interesting."

Someone coughed.

"It's a period in history in which the Republic first began."

A chair leg grated against the floor.

"Your regular teacher says that in your previous history lessons you have been learning the basics of the Senates procedures in passing a law."

Blink. Sneeze.

For the first time he noticed the colorful drawings and scribbles posted on the wall. Since when did History class draw pictures?

"Um, from early on the Republic has stood for a lot of things."

A kid in the front row wiggled a lose tooth.

"Things like, uh, good stuff."

Obi-Wan nearly melted in relief when a little human girl in the third row raised a marker stained hand. He nodded to her, motioning for her to ask her question.

"Wha kind 'a shtuff," she lisped through two missing front teeth.

"Well, justice and peace, things like what we stand for when we say the Code."

She looked down and fiddled with a red marker, glancing sheepishly at her fellow classmates, "Oh, we haven ta' been taught dat yet."

Obi-Wan looked baffled, "Huh? Ms. Hertia said that you had learned that a two months ago."

She shook her head, "Ms. Hert'a not our teacher. She teach da 'istory class."

Obi-Wan paled, "You're not the History class?"

She shook her head, her dirty blond hair churning about her.

If Obi-Wan could have chosen a time to die, this would have been it. "Then what are you?"

She bit her lower lip, as if she already knew that he obviously had come into the wrong room, "We," She spread her arms around, gesturing to the listless children around her, many of which had slumped into their seat, "We, art class."

"Oh," he croaked. "That would explain it." He was at a loss for words, could he really just leave them to sit in the room waiting for their real teacher? He hadn't been trained for this kind of situation!

"So…" A Bothan child ventured, "You gonna teach us dwa'ing?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess, think, could maybe." How had he gotten himself into this? Oh yeah, it had all started when he nearly burned the Temple apartment wing down. But really, could teaching a bunch of kindergartners how to scribble on a sheet of paper be all that hard? Maybe this wouldn't be all that bad. Maybe…he didn't dare hope.

"So what have you guys really been learning?"

The whole room lit up and cried in one squeaky voice, "Oil painting!"

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A/N: Well there you go, hope you liked it. Now who here as worked with oil? Well, if you haven't then just wait and see what I mean. The next part is in the works, but I think I should have it up soon, or somewhat soon. Don't forget to let me know what you think and give me some IDEAS. Thankee kindly!

**Chapter 3: Of Oil and Cafeterias **

_(Title subject to change J )_


	3. Of Turpentine and Cafeteria Discussions

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See first chapter for disclaimers etc…

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Chapter 3: Of Turpentine and Cafeteria Discussions 

Apparently it had been a horrible misconception to assume that teaching an art class wouldn't be too difficult. No wonder the holopicture was more widely used instead of the pencil and the brush.

"It's broken," A short, rotund Calamarian, with huge bulbous black eyes, thrust a horribly mangled paintbrush into his hands.

With a long-suffering sigh, he drew another brush from a box he had found in the storage closet in the back of the room, "Huri, I told you five times already, you can't press so hard on the brush! It breaks the bristles."

The child waddled back to his desk, nodding vigorously just as he had done the past five times.

"O-B!" squealed a distraught human girl, butchering the first syllable of his name and converting it to easier speech, "O-B, da bwush exp'oded."

Grabbing a napkin, he hurried over to the student. Before he had a chance to clean up the new mess, a shriek of either displeasure or sheer delight made him whirl around to check on whoever stapled his/hers/ or its, hand/appendage to the canvas this time. Seeing that everything was well (as well as a room full of 5 year-olds with staining fluid could be) and in fact it had been the squeal of a Bothan who had finally got the lid of a bottle off a paint, he turned back to the girl, but ended up unintentionally ramming his right eye into a purple clotted paintbrush.

"OW!"

The little girl lurched back, dropping the oily brush from where she had held it up at eye-level for Obi-Wan's more convenient inspection.

Obi-Wan yelped in pain, clutching at his wounded eyeball. The oily paint, stung horribly. The one thought in his mind and the first order of business was, _Get water!_ Heavenly to his blurred sight was a small bottle sitting within his close reach on the girls desk. Unfortunately, truly good things were out of his reach today.

The little initiate watched curiously as the new teacher hoped about the room then grabbed the small bottle of turpentine on her desk.

Down the hall, and then to the right and up a level, in room number thirty-eight, twelve bewildered, mentor-less nine-year-old history students heard a second agonized howl.

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"Blue!"

"Gween pwease."

"I need yellow!"

"Can I have some red?"

Obi-Wan had never heard so many colors yelled at him or anybody in the course of 3 seconds. He couldn't imagine how he had survived nearly and hour of this torture. But then again, neither had he ever worn quite so colorful raiment. His tunic had, this morning when he had donned it, been a clean (at least for him) sand hued color. Now it was a myriad of shades of reds, blues, yellows, greens and an assortment of other mixed colors. Much to his chagrin, not only was his clothing stained, but any exposed skin, including his face and hair.

All things considered, it could have been worse. Yet he had restrained himself from thinking too much of that, lest he jinx his marginal good luck. So far, the only marginally major mishap was the turpentine incident. That's all, but that is if you would be only to consider nearly having an eye poked out by a five year old, and then pouring toxic fluids into it. 

Besides that, all the other occurrences would only be those that could be expected in a situation such as this. That is, minus the Sullistan boy's thumb (A/N: Sullistan's DO have thumbs don't they?) getting stuck in the blue paint bottle, then having to break the jar open with the hilt of his lightsaber, resulting in a swollen thumb and an unwanted trip to the healers. Of course they had asked why his right eye was irritated to an extreme red with a vibrant rim of purple. He had answered by explaining that he had an allergy to some of the student's shampoos. He was finding out, by the sneezing, that it wasn't far from the truth, except he suspected it was more a reaction to the turpentine.

The earlier deafening clamor of the initiates had lulled down to a low murmur as they had become completely engrossed in their separate artistic ventures. The clock above the door struck half past ten. A soft chime instantly started to sing, then, faster than a Sith could say, "Dark Side", the students were up, and out the door, running full speed down the hall. 

Without warning, Obi-Wan found himself totally alone. The halls were silent and the students pounding footsteps were quickly fading. 10:31. A sheet of paper slowly drifted down to rest on the floor in front of his feet after it had been caught up in the children's rampage. Leaning down, he picked it up. On the top of the page, written in big, running letters was his name scrawled in a child's handwriting. **OB-One Kin o b.** He laughed, for the first time that day. In the middle of the page was an abstract figure of what he took to be a girl and to the left, another figure. Below his name at the top he saw a messy arrow pointing at the second figure. It really didn't resemble him, except for the line running from his head to his waist, which he guessed was his padawan braid. He grinned, at the bottom of the drawing was the artist name, _Nienna. _He remembered her as being the girl that had sheepishly told him that this was an art class. 

"So how'd it go?"

He hadn't noticed till now the repulsive Rodian from earlier, was standing just inside the doorway. He hadn't even heard her come in.

He took in the mass destruction before him; paint was flung on the walls, chairs desks, on the floor, acting as glue for canvases and sheets of paper. It paralleled the aftermath of a hurricane. Even with the daunting task of cleaning it all up, a light smile settled on his features.

"Oh, just fine."

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Obi-Wan palmed the door shut behind him, the picture carefully folded in his pocket. He had survived teaching a class (if you could call handing sheets of canvas and paper out to children and supplying them with brushes, paints and health care, _teaching_) he hadn't been supposed to teach. Maybe a little battle scared, but ironically, mentally much better. 

It was now 11:45. It had taken him over an hour to clean the mess in the classroom. His back ached from scrubbing floors, and his arms felt like lead weights. His feet guided him back towards his and Qui-Gon's quarters. He stopped half way. Going back home meant facing his master, facing his master meant facing his demise. This course of thought quickly put a damper on his earlier cheery mood. 

His stomach growled hungrily. Food, the lifesaver and curer of all ills. Pivoting on a heel in one smooth movement he turned down the opposite hall towards the cafeteria. If there was anyway to waylay his almost certain death then he would take the opportunity given to him. _Call me a coward, but even a coward would like a last meal before their last breath._

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Whether it was the middle of the night or the breaking of the dawn, the Temple's 'food trough' (as dubbed by the younger residents) was always occupied. 

It was no different today. Everybody claimed that going to the food hall was the easiest way drive away ones worries and sorrows, without having to make the dangerous trek to the lower level bars of Couruscant. 

"Obi-Wan! Over here!"

Obi-Wan watched as Bant hurried over to him. She stopped dead at the site of his rather, colorful choice in clothing. He had forgotten all about that. Now he was the center of attention for most of the room's occupants. It grew deathly quiet.

Bant glanced at Garen. Garen stared at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan gulped and fidgeted, "Uh, hi."

That seemed to clear everything up, there was a rush of increase in noise, then all was back to normal.

"Wow, what happened to you?" Garen asked, sizing him up.

Obi-Wan groaned and followed them over to the lunch table, "My life happened."

"Oh, come on, it can't be all _that _bad," argued Bant as she dished out a heaping pile of green leafs onto her plate.

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at her food choice, "Oh yes it can. You try living with a master who _likes _to get up at five in the morning."

Garen chuckled, "That's just because you aren't a morning person."

"Tell me four people you know who _are_ morning people."

Garen immersed himself in dishing food onto his plate.

Obi-Wan shot a glare at Bant, "See."

Bant shrugged, "But you have to live with that every morning. What makes it so bad today?"

Obi-Wan proceeded to tell his friends of the 'fresher incident, the wrong room and the paintbrush mishap. It took longer than it should have thanks to Bant and her complaints about how she couldn't believe that he hadn't seen the smocks hanging on the wall which were always provided, in hopes that the little initiates would at least keep the front of there tunics clean.

"…And if I return home, and Qui-Gon's there, then I'm dead!" he concluded.

"Oh, Obi-Wan, you're over dramatizing, he wouldn't kill you. And even if he wanted to, he's not allowed to, he'd probably be vaporized by the Council," Bant reasoned as the three friends sat down in an unoccupied booth. 

"He's gone against the Council's orders before, what would stop him now?" Garen asked, only to receive a withering glare from the Calamarian.

Sighing, Bant leaned toward the apparently doomed apprentice before her, "Look, Master Qui-Gon won't kill you, and if he was going to, why didn't he do it this morning before you left?"

"Because he didn't want to write the Mission Statement."

Garen swallowed a huge bite, he nodded, "Well, that makes sense. Might as well get what you can out of a situation."

Bant favored Garen with one of her, shut-up-I've-got-everything-under-control-and-if-you-don't-then-you'll-have-that-fork-up-your-nose, looks. The hapless Garen applied himself to his food wholeheartedly. 

"As I was saying," she stressed, "Your master isn't callous enough to murder his padawan for toasting a few towels."

"Toasted to a crisp."

Bant rolled her eyes at her **pragmatic **companion, "I'm sure that if you ask one of the docents that they'll gladly get you some new towels from supplies."

Obi-Wan nodded, though not thoroughly convinced that he shouldn't sign a will. 

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"Do you have classes today?" Bant asked as the three tossed their scant leftovers into a disposal bin.

Obi-Wan nodded, "Two, but they aren't full hour classes, thank the stars."

"Ah, no fair, I've still got three and a half more hours of astro-physics, language, and DE (Diplomatic Education), including the dreaded Master Ki'mar."

Obi-Wan stopped suddenly and banged his head into a wall, "Oh sith spit! I forgot about Master Ki'mar! I didn't think I had him till tomorrow."

Ask, any thirteen through sixteen year old in the Temple, or any sentient within a twenty mile radius of it, and they would know, or know of, Master Ki'mar. He was said to be the vilest, ugliest, and meanest Bith on Coruscant, or any surrounding planets. Renowned for the amount of homework he required of his victims (as the students called themselves), he was dreaded with abominable fear. One of the numerous rumors which had circled the Temple about the greatly feared master was that he had on one occasion, made a luckless padawan do the assignments for all the students in the 8th, 9th _and _10th grade classes. Both of which being a higher knowledge level than his humble 7th grade. Of course that wasn't really too bad for the 8th and 9th and 10th graders, but the very idea that the master would commit such a heinous crime, well, it was just unbelievable. 

Obi-Wan and his friends where no less afraid of the master than any of their fellow classmates. With great fear and trembling did they enter his lair, never was there a giggle, a snort of sarcasm, or the passing of a note. No one knew what the consequence would be for doing any of the later, but neither had anyone had the guts to find out. 

Obi-Wan groaned, "I am _so_ doomed."

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A/N: Woo-hoo! I finished chapter 3, wow. *Pats self on the back* All I know about the next chapter is that there's gonna be (that is if my muse doesn't run away and replace itself) some…uh…stuff…*thinks*…like…well you probably can guess from the last part. Tell me what you think about this diddle and what I should do to ol' Obi! I don't have a title yet so…oh well.

Special Shout outs:

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Risi- That little realistic problem crossed my mind, (since I'm a semi artist myself) but I needed something really messy and watercolors or tempera just wouldn't cut it. Poetic license and all, well, I thought I could get away with it this time! Thanks for pointing out the smock thing, I had thought of that but didn't think it mattered, after I read your review I went back and added a bit for that. 

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Melima8788- Okay, stupid question, what the heck does ROFL mean? I sat staring at that for half an hour trying to figure it out! ACK! lol.

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Celestia Vitaria- Does this really qualify as Obi-torture? Maybe I should call it Obi-Teasing or something. Love it when people laugh at my fics! (Really!)

Thanks to all those who reviewed (all 7) made me feel special!

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Bill-the-Pony

One more question: How do you spell Coruscant? Am I doing it right?


	4. Of Big Brained Biths

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Chapter 4: Of Big Brained Biths

Have you ever watched a funeral procession? Not the after funeral party, or gathering where people could care less about the deceased due to all the food, but the actual procession? Well, if you have, then you would be led to think that there was a grand funeral about to begin in Room 35 in the Jedi Temple. To some of the students, it didn't seem to be far from the truth.

Obi-Wan and Bant were apart of the procession and were just about to enter Master Ki'mar's lair. They could have sworn that the room glowed with a sithly red. It was always a mad rush to get as far to the back as possible, somehow – do to a few well timed threats and/or promises – Obi-Wan and Bant were fortunate enough to wrestle themselves into two seats three rows from the back.

Suddenly there was a chilling hush, Master Ki'mar had entered the room. He walked to the front of the room, set a datapad on the desk and then turned his empty gaze on the padawans before him.

One of the many frightening things about him was his abnormally (even for a Bith) huge, glassy black eyes. Unlike a human or most humanoids, you couldn't see any iris or pupil. His eyes were entirely black and the light would cast off of them as they roved, yet one could never tell on whom or what they were focusing.

"Turn to section 5.7 in your text," Master Ki'mar never started with a "Hello, how are you all today," or even, "Good day." 

Not a word was uttered as the cowed apprentices flipped through their material. No one even dared to sneeze or itch.

"Start reading from the top of the section to the end of the second paragraph. Put your pads down when you are finished."

The next ten minutes went quietly and without any life lost. It was obvious that many of the apprentices read each paragraph twice, buying as much time as possible. Finally, once they could spare no more time lest they be caught in their devious act, the students simultaneously set there pads on their desks and waited for the next command.

"As you read in your text, the Senate was first established in…" Master Ki'mar's voice droned on and on. It seemed an age but in reality only eleven minutes later that he suddenly stopped his 'jawing' and stood rigid at the head of his carefully organized desk. 

No one had ever dared to pass a note or commit the horror of talking in one of Master Ki'mar's classes. The consequences which blossomed in young minds could easily make a Council member have nightmares for a week. But as a wise sentient once said, "There's always a first time."

There was a collective gasp as a long snore cut through the thick silence of the room. There, hunched over his desk, a cheek pressed against a limp arm with a puddle of drool quickly accumulating on his text, was Obi-Wan Kenobi fast asleep and snoring to his death. Bant was already composing a farewell speech for his funeral.

"Padawan Kenobi," Ki'mar said in a level neutral tone. The padawan in question did not respond. His fellows watched in aghast horror as Master Ki'mar made his way down the luckless apprentice's isle, the students in his row melting in quaking fear in Ki'mar's wake.

"Padawan Kenobi," Ki'mar came to a stiff halt at Obi-Wan's desk. He stood rigid, seemingly staring blankly at the opposing wall but that would be too much good fortune on Obi-Wan's behalf. 

Obi-Wan in question had been sleeping soundly since Ki'mar had reached his second sentence, happily dreaming about giant dinner plates and pillows. Not long after he had finished his sixth plate, he was startled awake when a pale knobby hand slammed down in front of his face. 

With a yelp of surprise he toppled out of his chair and landed with his legs tangled with the chair and the desk while the rest of his body became wedged between his seat and Bant's.

There he sat, blinking in bewilderment at his unexpected relocation, oblivious of his impending doom which presented itself in the form of a big brained Bith. 

"Padawan Kenobi, were you sleeping?" Ki'mar asked civilly.

Obi-Wan blinked, hard, "Uh, well, if you consider dozing off for a few minutes sleeping then I'd…"

"Padawan Kenobi, were you sleeping?" The Master's voice rose a level, sending the wedged apprentice into a fit of squeaking excuses. Ki'mar stood, stiff and straight as a regimental commander. With a flick of a finger he quieted all whines without even a touch of the Force. "Padawan Kenobi, you were sleeping in my class. Why?"

Obi-Wan felt a surge of aggravation bubble in his blood. This just wasn't fair, why him? "Because I was tired, why else would I sleep?" A sarcastic note crept its way into his words. Bant began to compose what she was going to say to Master Jinn when he asked about his padawan's demise.

If you asked a witness he or she would have reiterated to you that at that point smoke had begun to seep from the Bith's nose, ears and mouth, "Would you care to repeat what you just said?"

Obi-Wan had had enough. His day had – to put it in un-Jedi like terms – stunk, and at this point he didn't really care if he was about to mouth off to the most feared teacher in the Temple and perhaps second only to Master Windu, "You want me to repeat what I just said? I can't hold it against you that you didn't catch what I said the first time since you're _obviously_ so hard of hearing. I said I was tired, do you ever get tired? No I didn't think so. You want to know _why_ I'm so tired? Of course not but I'll enlighten you anyhow. Do you like to get up at five in the morning? Do you like to have near death bathroom experiences?" His voice rose steadily, "Would you like to have a death wish? Do you enjoy teaching a class in which five year olds have sticks with staining fluids? If you answered yes to any or all of these questions then you would love my life, and if you answered no, well then you'd be tired. Doesn't that answer your earlier question?" 

Dead silence. A pin drop would have been a deafening clamor. "Are you quite finished yet?" More silence.

"Do you like questions?" Obi-Wan's earlier aggravation was slowly wearing off, but the exhaust had yet to fade.

"Padawan Kenobi, you are in no position to speak in that manner," It really was an awkward scene, Obi-Wan was stuck and tangled in a most unnatural position dangerously close to an untimely end while impishly 'talking back' to a teacher known for triple workloads. 

"Now that you've spoken your mind you can sit quietly through the remainder of class then write a ten page essay about the dangers of a wild tongue but you can think about what you will write while you scrub the kitchens after which you will have even more time while you do the laundry for the crèche ward." Master Ki'mar turned on a heel and stalked back to the front of the room and continued his lecture starting from the "and" he'd left off at.

Obi-Wan suppressed a groan while untangling himself from his twisted position. He pushed himself up into his chair, already dreading the coming hours. But misfortune seemed to be his lot in life, so he might as well get used to it now.

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A/N: Sorry I took so long getting this out but I've been majorly sick and everything got messed up with my brain. It happens when you've got a fever of 102 point something. Hurhur. It's really short but I figured something's better than nothing. I've got bubbles in mind for some future chapter. I've got nothing to say so a few choice shout outs….

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Silverrain: Dude, don't die! Did think it was that funny but I'm delighted that ya liked it!

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Lia Galanodel: Thanks for the great idea, I was going to just…I don't know what I was going to do but I changed my mind when I read your suggestion, it really helped, I just didn't know what he'd do. Give me more ideas!!! Oh and thank you for telling me what ROFL means!

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Jedi Ha'Li: Hey! Lia told me what ROFL means! *beams happily* it equals Rolling on the floor laughing. *Pats self on the back then remembers to thank Lia again.*

Thanks y'all Review some more and give me some ideas so that I can blast this Writers Block Demon! _Bill-the-Pony_


	5. Of Squeegees and Temple Floors

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For ratings and disclaimers see first chapter. And for further reference, a Chagrian is what Mas Amedda was, as far as I can tell.

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Chapter 5: Of Squeegees and Temple Floors

"Obi, Obi-Wan wait up!"

Bant jogged to catch up with Obi-Wan as he powered through the crowded hall. No one dared to be caught in the path of the death defying padawan. Bant found the going easy due to the clear wake trailing behind the older apprentice. The other padawans and initiates knit together like a fast closing wound only after he was over an ample 5 feet away.

"Obi-Wan, what were you thinking?" She squealed when she finally sidled up behind him, "Did the phrase, 'sudden death by Force choking' ever cross your mind?"

Obi-Wan ignored her as he swerved down a less congested hall. Bant glanced back and saw a tight wall of inquisitive faces peering after them, tittering in wide-eyed wonder. She bounced back to his side, "You do know you were incredibly lucky, I mean all things considered you got off easy compared to--"

Obi-Wan lurched to a sudden halt, the Mon Calamari bounced off his back, caught off guard by his unexpected stop. He sighed, "Bant, those were all rumors, most of them were mere figments of the wild imaginations of seven-year-olds, thirsting for attention, and more likely have never even seen Ki'mar."

Not waiting for a reply he started off down the nearly deserted hall. Bant stared after him, then as if snapping out of a day dream she bounded after him, "Okay, okay, so maybe you have a point," she conceded, "But it actually was kind of nifty how you stood up to him and all." 

"I wasn't standing," Obi-Wan mumbled darkly, "I was a twisted, half asleep lump," he corrected.

"Oh fine, be that way, but it was still an awe inspiring event. No one's ever done that before!" She shrieked excitedly, "And anyway, you couldn't have gotten up anyway, you were wedged between the chairs."

Obi-Wan groaned with a mixture of frustration and helplessness, "Do you think that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Once again, Bant paused, thinking while standing still. A light sprung in her eyes, "Uh, probably not! But just think! You're gonna be a Temple celebrity!" She giggled madly.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the two, "Well then," a smooth baritone thundered, a well hidden hint of humor _nearly _concealing itself, "if the newest Temple celebrity would kindly come this way, a squeegee and a multitude of pots are anxiously awaiting his arrival."

Obi-Wan and Bant looked up…and up, to gaze with wholesome trembling at the towering Chagrian. He in turn stared down at Obi-Wan with a carefully schooled expression. It didn't take long for a nearly sadistic grin to settle easily on his blue hued features.

Obi-Wan seemed to shrink before Bant in comparison to the massive figure staring him down. She backed away stammering helplessly, far from being envious of her friend's current state, "Uh, bye Obi, I've…I've gotta get going. Allergies and all ya know. Seeya!" As suddenly as she had come, she was skirting back down the hall. The phrase, 'guilty by association' popped unbidden into her mind.

Obi-Wan sagged as he followed in the wide wake of the Chagrian, wistfully hoping that maybe no one would see him behind his wide muscular girth. It was only 1:15, night, and hopefully, rest an eternity and a day away. At this point he didn't think that this hellish day could get any worse. He hoped desperately that he was right.

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Obi-Wan was forcefully snapped out of his self-pitting romp as a sopping sponge was thrust at him, squelching hideously against his rainbow splashed tunic (A/N: You DO remember the paint right?). 

The Chagrian stared down his nose at the padawan, thrusting a long, elegant finger at a towering stack of dishes, "Scrub."

Obi-Wan stared in disbelief at the stack of dirty utensils and various dishes, "You want me to clean that?" He whined, "Why can't the droids do it?" He regretted having said anything the moment the words slipped easily from his mouth.

Tar Sheren, the Chagrian assigned to him, smiled in a near feral fashion, "Because then you would have nothing to do my young friend," He said in a maddeningly level tone. 

By the glint in his eye, the Knight seemed quite happy with his position over Obi-Wan, and quite at ease to use what power he had. Obi-Wan grinned nervously, "Oh yeah, right, I forgot."

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Obi-Wan slid down the kitchen wall, _I'll never dirty another plate if I live to eat again,_ He groaned inwardly.

Tar Sheren was picking through the neat stack of plates and mounds of sorted utensils. He narrowed his eyes, a long blue finger snaking forth to pick at a miniscule crusty lump of unidentifiable mass. Obi-Wan winced as the nail screeched against the plate. Disdainfully, Tar Sheren set the plate with a rapidly growing selection of rejected cutlery. He moved to the next item. Looking it over carefully, then setting it in the 'acceptable' pile with a grunt. 

Obi-Wan was quickly learning that Chagrians, or Tar Sheren singularly, had a refined knack for finding the unobtrusive. He was also learning that they didn't speak very much, making it all the harder for him to tell when he had done a satisfactory job. Not to mention that it annoyed the living midi-chlorians out of him.

Tar Sheren brushed his long nailed hands off on his spotless tunic, then pointed silently to the slightly smaller stack of rejected dishes.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up to his sore feet, no longer needing a vocal command to instruct him.

Tar Sheren resumed his ridged stance behind Obi-Wan, unperturbed by the withering glares shot back at him by the apprentice. 

Four more attempts and two new sponges later, Obi-Wan finally met the Chagrian's cleanliness criteria. Much to his relief, he wasn't required to put the dishes away. Obi-Wan didn't know why, but he wasn't about to question it.

Folding his manicured hands into full sleeves, Tar Sheren pulled himself straighter, decidedly not making eye contact with the padawan, satisfied to stare over his head.

"I was informed that you were told to scrub the kitchens, but considering that I have been put in charge of your detention I have concluded that the reception area's floor is in much more need of attention." 

Obi-Wan gaped at the Chagrian, "You…You _are _kidding right?" He stuttered anxiously.

Tar Sheren sniffed in disdain, finally meeting Obi-Wan's astonished gaze, "I do not 'kid'," He spat with obvious repulsion, "I would not have said so if I did not mean it."

Obi-Wan nodded dumbly, still slack jawed, "Right."

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The reception area was the grand entrance of the Jedi Temple. Its high roofed dome ceilings were made of a swirled marble supported by massive pillars of the same masonry. The enormous chamber echoed mutely with the paced footsteps of the Jedi, the air hushed with a palatable reverence. Floor to ceiling windows allowed beams of sunlight to provide more than adequate lighting. 

The floor Obi-Wan had been issued to polish.

Obi-Wan had been in the vast room more times than the count of Yoda's wrinkles and a Hutt's fat content put together. He could also recall how he had often times scuffed a boot heel across the carefully waxed surface and hardly given it a second thought. Now he was regretting it with every ounce of his will.

He stumbled as he grappled with the magnitude of his task. 

Swallowing the huge lump of anxiety that threatened to choke him, he followed the Chagrian across the immense hall, wincing every time someone's boot scraped the floor.

Ahead, a small Sullistan twitched apprehensively. Next to him was an odd contraption, which Obi-Wan identified as the washer/waxer. _At least, _he thought drearily, _they're showing a bit of mercy by not making me do it by hand._

The Sullistan docent, Abdor, fidgeted on his feet while his beady black eyes darted wildly about, "Took you long enough. Here's the polisher and all the equipment you will need," Abdor gave a wide sweep of the buckets on the trundle cart and the polisher. He paused sizing Obi-Wan up, "Don't know how a youngster like you will take care of such a job. I expect that you won't mess anything up," He fixed a sharp eye on Obi-Wan, then abruptly went back to his nervous nature. His mousy head swiveled about as if expecting the Coruscant Security Force to show up at any moment to haul him off.

Tar Sheren's lips peeled back from his teeth in a toothy - if not predatorily - grin, "Don't worry yourself Docent Abdor, I'll personally be present to supervise."

Abdor scrutinized the towering Chagrian suspiciously. Glowering and working his mouth fixedly, he nodded glumly, wringing his small hands against his gray tunic, "Yes, yes I suppose, but don't mess anything up," Abdor's expression turned to one of pitiful worry, "You don't know how hard I try to keep a good name for myself, awfully hard in this kind of business position."

Tar Sheren nodded regally, "Yes, of course I do. Now, just go enjoy yourself for the day," he ushered the shuddering docent towards a lift.

"'Enjoy myself?'" Abdor squeaked, "How can I enjoy myself when a careless newborn like that is polishing _my _floors?"

Obi-Wan greatly resented being called a 'careless newborn' but wisely held his tongue. He tried to console himself in the knowledge that some humanoid's life spans were lengthier than humans.

Once Abdor was safely closed into the shaft, Tar Sheren turned to the glowering apprentice, "Standing there gawking won't get the floor any more polished," he said evenly.

Obi-Wan's mouth snapped shut as he was about to shoot off a retort. Tar Sheren nodded and patted his head like rewarding a subdued pet, "Good boy, you're learning."

Obi-Wan's mouth might have been trained but his eyes were as green broke as a rancor to a country drive. 

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The thrumming of the polisher pounded angrily through Obi-Wan's skull. After marking off the first area he'd be working on, the apprentice had spent a good twenty minutes figuring out how to work the contraption. After three loads of soap he regretfully decided that it would be faster if he cleaned it by hand then wax it with the machine. The 100 x 100 square that he had marked off was only a square inch compared to the entire hall. Even though he had started in the farthest obscure corner, he still received vicious glares for blocking someone's way.

He was starting to understand why Abdor was invariably frazzled. Tar Sheren didn't help his edgy nerves by watching over every sponge stroke. 

But at least he was nearly halfway through with his menial and grueling task.

Slowly running the polisher down another hundred-foot stretch, he carefully made sure that the edge of the new wax met evenly with the last coat. Unfortunately, he was so intent on not overlapping the two coats for fear of making a strip of uneven wax, he forgot about the statue of the demised Jedi Master set in the middle of the marked of square. 

The humming polisher collided with the statue with a loud crack. Apparently the polisher's driving mechanisms was stronger than he had anticipated. It continued to plow forward, slowly chipping away at the base of the statue while not ceasing to somehow by a herculean cable drove the statue screeching across newly polished floor. Obi-Wan scrambled to turn it off, but in his scrambling slipped on the wet wax. His legs flew out from beneath him landing him hard on his stomach, the air whooshing out of his lungs. 

But like a nightmarish vacuum from a crèche baby's bad dream, the polisher kept rolling, the deep thrumming turning into a sithly laugh. 

As the wax hardened around his fingers and clothing, Obi-Wan could only watch helplessly as the statue crumbled as it smashed into a wide pillar. A loud, resounding crack echoed horribly about the vast chamber. 

Bracing himself for the fall of the great pillar he waiting for it to bring to whole Temple down on his head. But nothing came; he waited, and waited. The wax glued him to the floor. Nothing happened. The thrumming of the polisher died, clunking to a chugging halt. The chamber was eerily hushed.

The dust particles were slowly settling, a few muted voices had started conversing. He guessed a team to secure the pillar would be arriving shortly. _Yeah, and not only to secure that, _he thought glumly, _but a certain apprentice who is currently molded to the floor._

Two heavy booted feet parked themselves directly under his nose.

"Well, what have we here?"

Obi-Wan gulped; he could place that voice if he was half-deaf and surrounded by machinery off Malastar. 

He craned his head back to reluctantly meet the glassier gaze of the towering, imposing figure above him. An odd familiarity flashed through the back of his mind. Hadn't he been in a similar position just a few hours ago?

Swallowing hard, he finally caught his fleeting voice managing to squeak out…

"Hello Master."

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A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this out, I was stuck on the first page. But reading CYNICAL21's "An Untimely Frost" got me going a bit faster. I felt ashamed at least by reading great stories like that and Jocelyn's. *Guilt Guilt Guilt* And I've got a question? Should I have Qui get Obi out of the hole of polishing the rest of the floor? For times sake that is.

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Spazoid - Hey! That idea of running into large heavy objects took seed! It might have been a little different from what you thought, but it helped. I loved the trumpet idea, I started cackling at the very thought of Obi-Wan 'playing' one. Unfortunately I don't think I'll get to work that one into this. I'm running out of daylight for him! Aw shucks!

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Jedi Ha'Li - Glad you liked the last chapter, hope you like this one as much as the it!

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Melima8788 - I'm so relieved I got the 'scary teacher' theme over on chapter 4! I'm stuck in a predicament, I've still gotta get him with that essay and make him wash the crèches laundry and I think (I've confused myself) it's around 4 something PM at the end of this chapter. 

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Manticore Queen - Well I have another sickly excuse for not writing. I had to go to the stinking hospital for some weird infection thingy I had, thank God that I didn't have to have surgery like they thought I would! So that holed me up for about 2 weeks. Does that pass as a good excuse?? :)

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JadedJenn - Okay, forgive me that I'm going to sound like a total idiot but oh well. I haven't read HP so I'm not quite sure the scenes you're talking about but as long as they're funny to you (the readers) that's good enough for me!

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Padawan Rachel Erin - WOW! That's the first time that anything related to me in the slightest way has been referred to as 'genius! Thank You!!!

Thanks to everyone that reviewed, you…."Bring warm feelings to my heart." :) Like I even need to say who said that.


	6. Of Basic Grammar and Purple Yodas

For disclaimers and that whatnot see first chapter.  
  
Chapter 6: Of Basic Grammar and Purple Yodas  
  
"Hello Master."  
  
Qui-Gon stared down his nose at the padawan inadvertently groveling at his feet. A rogue twinge of satisfaction bubbled in his gut. He drowned it before it had a chance to seed - or for a certain green troll to be able to sense it, "So, Padawan, I see you've been hard at work. It isn't everyday that a student nearly succeeds in bringing down the Temple, or manages to get on so many people's black list."  
  
He watched with shrouded amusement as Obi-Wan's face twisted into a grimace. The Jedi Master shifted his stance, not wishing to be welded to the floor as his padawan had been. His eyes broke from his padawan's forcing them to stare straight ahead stoically. If Coruscant had had a Gestapo, Qui-Gon would have been the poster boy, "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
Obi-Wan craned his neck, but found his braid waxed solidly to the floor, sufficiently tethering him. He wracked his brain for any possible explanation vaguely believable. Even the truth was painfully weak. In normal circumstances, he would throw himself on his face and beg for mercy. But as it was, he was already there, quite literally. "Um, I'm sorry?"  
  
Qui-Gon quirked an brow at him, squaring his stance. "You're sorry, question mark? Or are you sorry, period."  
  
"Er, period."  
  
Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction, "Now that we have a basic element of grammar understood, I expect a thorough and truthful explanation."  
  
"Can you un-stick me first?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.  
  
"No."  
  
Obi-Wan gulped meekly. "Uh, the polisher kind of ran away."  
  
"That is rather obvious from the look of things, but wouldn't it be more accurate to say that you lost control of it?"  
  
The apprentice shrugged as best as he could, "Not exactly. I just kind of got distracted," By the predatory gleam in his master's eyes, Obi-Wan surmised that the plea of distraction wouldn't quite cut it. Back to plan A. Beg, plead and grovel, "It was an accident really!"  
  
"An accident, just like the accident this morning, and what about your argument with your teacher? Was that just a slip of tongue that lasted five minutes?"  
  
"It wasn't an argument really. It was just a difference of opinion!" Obi- Wan cried.  
  
"So that wasn't and accident?" Qui-Gon countered.  
  
"Master stop! You're confusing me. This time it really was a mistake, just like the other times. Well, maybe not the Ki'mar thing, but it was the other times. Just like the time you got your hair stuck in the hair dryer and." Obi-Wan's jaw snapped shut suddenly, realizing his mistake too late.  
  
Qui-Gon went suddenly pale, "You saw that?"  
  
"Um, I didn't say that," he backpedaled.  
  
Qui-Gon's expression changed abruptly from stark pale to blazing red, either out of anger or embarrassment, maybe both, but either way, it wasn't a shade that boded well.  
  
"You were cursing like a spice smuggler! Obviously I'd be a bit curious why my revered master was using such vulgar language."  
  
Qui-Gon glared at him, "Don't be cute."  
  
There was a tight pause, Qui-Gon was obviously trying to figure a way to secure Obi-Wan's silence, other than death. The apprentice prayed.  
  
"Though I would like to know how you managed that," Obi-Wan wondered aloud.  
  
"It was an accident."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, "Oh, so, like how I caught the bathroom on fire?"  
  
"No, this was a reasonable accident."  
  
"Getting your hair caught in a blow dryer is more reasonable than catching the bathroom on fire?" Obi-Wan scoffed, "But how did you ever accomplish such a feat?"  
  
"Actually it is, but besides that, I don't understand what you mean. It's perfectly understandable."  
  
"Master! You got your hair stuck in a blow dryer! How is that understandable?" Obi-Wan nearly choked.  
  
"You're making no sense Padawan. It was an accident!"  
  
Obi-Wan goggled at his nervous mentor, "Master, that doesn't explain anything, you got your hair stuck in blow dryer, you get that? A blow dryer, blow dryers do precisely that, blow. They do not suck!"  
  
Another pregnant pause.  
  
"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon started, "I have a deal for you." He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was his master bargaining with him? Had Banthas started to fly?  
  
"If you promise, on pain of your braid being pulled out and your body being thrown to a Sarlac, not to tell a soul about that.incident, I'll get you out of writing that essay Ki'mar gave you. And I'll, just maybe, forgive you for all the other disasters you've caused today."  
  
This was too good to just pass up without his share of bargaining. If his master was this desperate. "I don't know if you've heard yet, but I've also been ordered to do laundry for the crèche wing. Now the essay, is such a small thing," Qui-Gon coughed, "Okay then, maybe not that small, but small enough. Now maybe we could arrange something if you include that in your list to, erase."  
  
Qui-Gon guffawed, "Of course, I don't think so."  
  
"Oh come on! I've done more than my share today. I was only supposed to scrub the floors of the kitchen and the laundry and the essay. But then Commander Tar over there," thrusting his head at the Chagrian standing across the room with Abdor, since his arms were incapacitated, "decides to be Mr. Boot Camp and makes me do the whole Temple's floors and the dishes! It's either essay and laundry or I blab."  
  
Qui-Gon coughed, "It was hardly the whole temple, and it was just in place of the kitchens, and anyway, the dishes needed to be done."  
  
"But the droids could have done it in half the time I took!" Obi-Wan whined.  
  
The master leaned over, "Well then," he said quietly in a tone that hinted malice quite strongly, "You're just out of practice. Maybe we should hone your skill."  
  
Qui-Gon straightened, "Besides that, you don't even know what your punishment will be for this transgression. I think you should take whatever grace you are given. And you hardly look like you're in any position to bargain with me," He paused, "Unless you would like to write that essay as well."  
  
Oh, how he hated it when his master was smarter than him.  
  
"Now, here's my final offer. I'll pardon you of the essay, forgive you of your past," He quoted with his fingers twice, "mistakes, and let you keep your life - if you can - since you've almost twice brought the temple down on your own, and everyone else's heads. How's that." Obi-Wan wasn't that suicidal.  
  
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Obi-Wan's master was a just man, but he was still human with a nature of sin and desire for a little personal satisfaction. Too bad that personal satisfaction had to involve a lightsaber. Qui-Gon was not overly careful or worried about the means of prying his apprentice from the floor, when asked if he'd like to melt the wax carefully with a specific tool, he declined, opting for his lightsaber. Obi-Wan had seen more care taken in the cutting of Bantha ribs.  
  
Rather singed and bedraggled of clothing, Obi-Wan was finally removed from the hard wax. With hardly enough time to pick a flake of crusted wax off his arm, Abdor was taking him by the front of his tunic and demanding a groveling apology. But at this point, Obi-Wan guessed that the only thing that would appease the furious creature, would be to offer his head on a plate. After he thought about it, he figured that it probably hadn't helped much when he had muttered, "No skin off my nose."  
  
Abdor, who had quite easily heard every word, squeaked madly that it would be, and would have lunged at him if Qui-Gon hadn't stepped between them. Being the master of diplomatic situations, Qui-Gon soothed Abdor's ridged nerves to the point where he was able to drag his apprentice away without the docent trying to strangle the boy. Personally, Qui-Gon would have liked to have done himself.  
  
Hardly after ten steps, Qui-Gon's com buzzed. It didn't take a ion scientist to figure out who it was from, or what it was about.  
  
They had been summoned by the council, and they had no choice to obey.  
  
Blast that meddling, green troll.  
  
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He hated heaters; he hated mission reports; he hated paint; he hated his teacher; he hated dishes; he hated dirty floors; he hated polishers; he hated this day, and most of all, he hated that he wasn't allowed to hate!  
  
  
  
Obi-Wan sat glumly outside the Council Chambers on a hard bench that made his backside numb. The path of his life lay inside those doors, being debated at this very moment. That thought was a frightening one; his only hope was his master, as it seemed to be so painfully often.  
  
  
  
  
  
His eyes caught the display clock on the secretary's pristine desk, it read 3:30 pm. When did time slow to such a sickening rate? Would this cursed day never end? From one minute to the next the seconds dragged themselves to the next, ticking painfully away.  
  
Laying his head on the palm of his hand, he closed his eyes, hoping that just maybe he might be blessed with the grace of unconsciousness. His mind drifted to odd things, ideas and thoughts. Yodas in pink robes jumping over fences. One Yoda, two Yoda, three Yoda.  
  
A heavy hand fell on his slouched shoulder. He jerked upright, not realizing that his brain had drifted off on another tangent. He was going crazy.  
  
"The Council wishes to speak with you."  
  
Obi-Wan looked up at his master, "Do I have to?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sighing, the padawan pulled himself to his feet, it was time to face some unpleasant music.  
  
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The Council Chambers were impressive, bathed in natural light unlike most of the Temple. Usually, comforting warmth seeped through the glass of the windows, now Obi-Wan felt like he was being roasted alive.  
  
As was customary, he stood behind his master a step back and to the right before he was addressed. The ranking members sat before them in their costume made seats silently. They seemed to stare at him more than usual. He was unused to being the center of attention when it was usually placed upon his venerable master. Their stare was different than the courteous gaze directed always towards his master. Their eyes - or eye in some individuals cases - wider than usual and a look as if staring at a carrier of some mortal plague. They looked half-ready to see the place burst into flame at his mere presence.  
  
"Wonder I do," Yoda began, "How one padawan, so unfortunate, can be," the revered master's sleepy eyes blinked languidly. His knobby fingers grasping his cane flexed slowly.  
  
"Whether it be misfortune or carelessness is what we need to know," Master Mace Windu said bluntly, "Do you understand what you've done, and the ill light we are looking at you in now?"  
  
Obi-Wan shriveled in Master Windu's sharp stare. He nodded dumbly.  
  
"The damage which was inflicted by your hand will be extremely costly, and- ."  
  
Obi-Wan couldn't help but cut in, "Well, it wasn't exactly by my hand," he stammered unwisely, "The polisher did it."  
  
Master Windu glared darkly at him, "Your hand," he restated. The master sighed, "Is there truly anything we can do to cure you of this alleged clumsy streak, before you destroy the Temple? Your elders have given you disciplines for your, disrespect, and yet with each one you somehow manage to only gain yourself more. You are almost unsafe to be in the company of!"  
  
The statement was followed by a series of open-eyed stares of unease from the other members.  
  
For the first time, Obi-Wan wisely remained mute.  
  
The dark skinned master shook his head dismally passing his hand in front of him dismissively, "What are we to do with you Padawan Kenobi?"  
  
That was a very good question, actually Obi-Wan had been hoping that Master Windu would tell him that. If it was up to him and what he would like, he'd just wish to get off pain free and that he would be allowed to go home and sleep for the next semester. But as to what he deserved.  
  
To that, he quaked in his boots to know.  
  
Yoda smiled slowly, and abnormally warming look on his droopish face, "Seems to be the question, it is. What shall we do?"  
  
A/N: You know, I'm really starting to hate this story, but I've convinced myself that I'll finish it no matter how pathetic it is. Now whether that's a good thing.that's up to your personal opinion. I've made so many plot changes, grammar switches, spelling errors, that if an editor ever saw this, his eyes would roll back in his head and would throw himself into Mount Doom. My sketchy outline pretty much stops here, I think it's dragging on and becoming quite bland, and I'm not sure whether I should bind it up in a short last chapter, or should I finish with one (or two) last torture for our poor young friend. I hate this insipid story, so I'd say scrap it, but the other side of me tells me that I have to finish it. Blast. So to the amazing people who actually have read this story.any clues for me?  
  
Thank you to ALL the people that have reviewed, I've been a terrible writer and don't deserve it in the least.  
  
Padawan Jess Kenobi - I'm SO glad you liked it, this last, very weak chapter must have disappointed you terribly, so sorry! Thank you!  
  
Missy - Aren't horses wonderful things? Thanks for the review!  
  
Jenn - Yes we authors are rather cruel to him aren't we? Poor, poor muses. Thanks!  
  
Jedi Ha'Li - Oh gosh, I hate to hear what you're going to say if you thought my last break between post was long! Trust me, I am thinking about your idea of Qui-Gon getting in trouble as well, I'm hoping to tie that in during the next chapter. So what else should I do in the next chapter? Continue Obi-Wan's 'discipline'? I can't thank you enough for giving me some wonderful ideas.  
  
Jedi Elf - Love your nick! I came on this story very skeptical too! I actually got the idea while sitting in church. I wrote the first part on a sermon note section. Why do I always get my inspiration there? I can't believe how you could actually think this to be one of the funniest SW fics, but it's a nice stroke for my deflated ego. ;) Thank you so much!  
  
Lighted eagle - LOL I loved your comment about Jedi House Work! Made my gut hurt from laughing at the thought of Jedi in maid outfits. Scary. Thank you so much for the kind words. Let me know what I should do to him next!  
  
Thanks again! 


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